Generic Drugs...Cheap, but Potentially Dangerous

I am on what is known as a "maintenance drug," something I have to take every day to stay healthy. This past summer, my insurance company contacted my doctor and told them that I needed to be switched to the generic version. I had been taking the brand name with no problems and more than satisfactory control of my health for more three years, but the generic would save me more than $50 each month, so I agreed.

Two months after starting the generic, my health started to spiral out of control. By four months, I was in such bad shape, I nearly ended up in the hospital. Fortunately, I called my insurance company and they allowed me to switch back to the brand name with no argument. I do have to pay the extra $50+ a month, though.

This experience made me think back to an article I read in Self magazine about the dangers of generic drugs. I encourage you to read it here. I was shocked to learn how unregulated generic drug manufacturers are. The article is nothing short of alarming. As I look back through it while writing this post, I've just realized that company mentioned as undergoing a criminal investigation is the company that made the generic drug I was taking!

So before you say OK to the next generic drug you are prescribed, ask questions and then make sure it's working. If it's not, speak up right away! Your health is precious.

Christmas Traditions

I grew up in a household rich in holiday traditions. Christmas was extra-special in my family.

The season would begin after Thanksgiving when my mom and I would start pestering my dad to put up the tree. He'd put us off until one day when we'd come home from shopping, the tree would be up. We'd put on Christmas carols and make hot chocolate and decorate. No themes for us; our tree was always a hodgepodge of ornaments collected over the years, topped by an angel with a gold tinsel halo.

Every picture in the house came down, to be replaced by a Christmas picture or wall-hanging. I would meticulously set up the nativity scene, rearranging the figures until I got them just right. The styrofoam Santa head was hung on the front door to be surrounded by the Christmas cards we received.

Speaking of Christmas cards, that was a tradition in itself. We'd gather around the dining room table. Before I could write well, my dad would read a name out of the address book and I'd pick out the card. My mom would sign our names and my dad would address the envelope. I'd stamp it with return address and put the stamp on it. When I got older, we switched jobs. My mom would pick out the card, and I would sign our names, always asking if I should use "love or sincerely."

My dad was the official gift wrapper. I would pick out the paper for each gift and cut the pieces of tape. He did the rest.

I always looked forward to the boxes of presents that came from my aunt and uncle in Michigan, and from my great aunt and uncle in California. I was allowed to open one present from each box on the day that they arrived; the rest had to wait for Christmas morning.

On Christmas Eve, we'd get dressed in our best and go to my Aunt Betty and Uncle John's or to my Grandma and Grandpa's for dinner. We'd start with "oplatki," a thin Communion-like wafer stamped with a Christmas scene and eaten with honey. Then we'd have pierogi for sure, and lots of other yummy foods. After that, it was off to church for my favorite service of the year, the Candelight Service. Everyone in the congregation received a candle and near the end of the service, all the candles were lit, the lights were turned down and we sang "Silent Night" together. This is still my favorite service of the year.

Then it was time to go home and wait for Santa! I never could sleep very late on Christmas morning, so I'd be up at 4 or 5 am, never knowing until I was older that my parents had only been in bed for a few hours after staying up to put my presents together!

I'd check the living room to make sure there were presents under the tree, then I'd go to wake up my dad. He'd get up and make me have a glass of juice before I could wake up my mom. And then it was on! We gathered in the living room and my dad would read the Christmas gospel from Luke. Then, PRESENTS! I loved watching my parents open theirs as much as I loved opening my own. One of my favorite gifts to receive was the ornament my grandparents gave me each year.

The ornament I received the year I was born

After that, we'd get dressed and head off to another family meal.

Christmas had changed a lot since I was a child. With the passage of time, fewer and fewer family members were left to sit at the table. Due to illnesses, we can no longer gather with extended family for the holidays. My parents and I have Christmas Eve dinner and go to church together, then on Christmas day we go to my grandparents' house. Christmas is much quieter now, but the real reason we celebrate is as strong as ever - the birth of our Savior!

New traditions have emerged too. My best friend Chris and I brave the crowds to shop on Black Friday every year, dressed in Christmas t-shirts. The next day, we make cashew and peanut brittle. Chris, her husband, her sister-in-law and our two nephews all celebrate Christmas on New Year's Eve together. We wear Christmas pajamas and open our gifts, then toast the New Year.

I miss the old traditions, but I've learned to love the new ones just as much. In the end, Christmas isn't about gifts or decorations or cookies or Santa or any of that. It's about faith, family and friends. As long as you have those in your heart, Christmas is Christmas no matter where or when or with who you celebrate.

What are your favorite Christmas traditions?

Road Rage Is Ridiculous

This evening as I was driving home from work, I got a glimpse of my former self.

I used to have a terrible problem with road rage. I would curse, honk, tailgate. Not pretty. And very un-Christian.

Over the past few years, I've mellowed out.

This evening, I merged into another lane and although I had plenty of space, the driver behind me took exception to my move. She beeped at me. As we got off the exit ramp, she gave me a continuous honk and pulled up next to me so she could flip me off and I presume, curse at me as I could see she was yelling at me. Both of our windows were up, so I have no idea what she was really yelling.

What struck me was how ridiculous her actions were. Was she trying to change the fact that I had merged in front of her? Get me to apologize? Fight me? Teach me a lesson?

Reflecting back on my own bouts of road rage, I think my motivation was to get the person to admit that they had wronged me in some way, to acknowledge that they had put their need to get somewhere ahead of my safety and the safety of others. Right. Because that was going to happen.

It's interesting when your own past mistakes are reflected back to you. I'm so glad I've mellowed out.

It Happened

So, it happened. The thing I dreaded most. The reason I was reluctant to get on Facebook.

THE ex-boyfriend found me on Facebook and sent me a message.

To my complete and utter shock, he apologized. For everything he did wrong during our relationship. He took responsibility for it all.

I had not communicated with him in any way for more than 10 years, so I never saw this coming. I never once imagined it would be a good thing if I heard from him again.

We're not buddies now or anything. In fact, I don't plan on communicating with him again. But it sure did feel good to get that apology and to be able to let him know that he is forgiven.

And I don't hate Facebook anymore.

The Real Reason Michael Vick Should Not Be Allowed to Return to the NFL

The real reason Michael Vick should not be allowed to return to the NFL is not because he committed a heinous crime for which he has shown no believable remorse. The real reason he should not be allowed to return is because he is a professional athlete who committed a heinous crime.

And, like it or not, professional athletes are role models. It's part of the job. If you don't want to be a role model, don't become a professional athlete. Period.

We are not talking about an average joe returning to a job at an office, a factory, a farm or a store. We are talking about someone who is paid a large salary to play a sport for a living. This is a privilege, not a right. With privileges come greater responsibilities.

I'm not saying he should rot in jail for the rest of his life. He should, however, be banned from the football field. There are other ways he can become a productive member of society. There are others ways he can serve as a role model, for example, speaking to young men about learning from his mistake, highlighting how breaking the law can change your life forever. Right now, his story goes more like, "I messed up, got a slap on the wrist, and got to get back on the field." Where's the lesson in that?

There are plenty of average joes who commit heinous crimes and never get a second chance like Vick. They have use their own gumption to turn their lives around. Why should Vick have it so easy?

P.S. As a PR professional, my deepest sympathy goes to the communications staff of the Philadelphia Eagles. Good luck this season - you'll need it.

Where Eating and Sleeping Collide

I titled this blog Eat/Sleep/Read because I feel that reading is as necessary to life as eating and sleeping. Lately, eating and sleeping have been giving me problems.

I've been feeling extremely fatigued since April - so fatigued that some days I can't take a full shower without stepping out to sit down for a minute. Nothing related to sleeping (bedtime, amount of sleep, time getting up) or exercising improved how I felt.

When I first called the doctor in May, they were so obliging as to offer me an appointment in August (!). I finally persuaded them to see my in July. My bloodwork and other test results indicate no obvious problems.

While I was undergoing all this testing, however, I made a discovery of my own. I had been eating poorly...too much fast/frozen food, not enough fruits or vegetables, etc. Toward the end of July and the first few weeks of August, I was eating better - more fresh fruits and vegetables, chicken and fish, less pasta and bread. And I was feeling better. Last week I ate badly...and paid for it over the weekend. I didn't leave the house at all on Sunday, but slept on and off all day.

Clearly my fatigue is related to my diet. So I gotta eat better. I'll let you know how it goes.

Julie & Julia and Their Husbands

Hello, dear neglected blog!

This past weekend, I went to see Julie & Julia with my mom. Excellent movie; Meryl Streep was outstanding. Uplifting, sweet and funny...except for one thing.

Among the other things that Julie & Julia have in common, their husbands are loving, helpful and supportive. They buy the right gifts at the right time. They say the right things at the right time (most of the time).

I would really love to know how much of this was fictionalized for the movie and how much of it was true. Why? I have seen very little real life evidence that men like this actually exist.

And this, my friends, is why I'm still single. I spent enough time in my dating life settling and I refuse to do it any more. I want a guy who kills the lobsters instead of belittling me for not being able to do it. I want a guy who can buy a meaningful (and note that by this I don't mean expensive) gift instead of replacement blades for my razor (true story). I want a guy who will encourage and celebrate my successes instead of trying to destroy my self-esteem so he can feel more confident.

I know you want to tell me that I actually have to date to find a guy like this, but frankly, I feel my time would be better spent hunting for the mythical unicorn. When I see more evidence that thoughtful, loving, supportive men in my age range actually exist, then perhaps I will give up my dating hiatus.

Until then, I have better things to do.

Buying American Part II

This news brief from Media Post's Marketing Daily confirms what I wrote about buying American:
http://www.mediapost.com/publications/?fa=Articles.showArticle&art_aid=109148.

Don't believe the hype. Check the facts.

Buying American

It's time for Chevy, Ford and GM to start telling their consumers the truth and stop operating under a double-standard. When you buy a car made by one these three companies, you are NOT "buying American."

In an article in yesterday's Online Media Daily, Les Luchter writes, "Buying a Ford is undoubtedly buying American...". He could not be more wrong.

My grandfather worked for a spring manufacturing company in Northeast Ohio for 67 years. For much of that time, the big three auto-makers were clients of this company, purchasing a variety of springs for the cars they made. Over the last five years or so, the spring company has seen ALL of the business from the Chevy, Ford and GM head overseas to China. The company is on the verge of closing.

I am so sick of Chevy, Ford, and GM and their dealers trying to make us believe that if we are buying one of their cars, we are "buying American." If they want us to, WHY DON'T THEY?

I feel no guilt whatsoever in driving my Honda Civic. It's a quality car and Honda is an economic engine in the state in which I live. In fact, Honda is the sixth largest employer in the state of Ohio.

I've had some people argue with me that I should buy from a so-called "American" car manufacturer because then the profits would stay in this country. Clearly not true, as the money will just be used to buy parts from overseas. Why not send it straight there anyway? Besides, it's not like the CEOs of the big three wouldn't just waste the money on private jets and other nonsense.

If you want to drive a Chevy, Ford or GM because it's a quality vehicle with the features you want at a price you can afford, by all means, please do. Just don't be fooled into thinking you are buying American.

Showcase 2009

After being MIA for the better part of last week, I thought I'd share a little bit of Showcase 2009 with you.

"Showcase" is our pet name for the International Showcase of Performing Arts for Youth, an annual conference held for artists, agents, presenters, producers and other professionals that are involved with the performing arts for young people. The conference travels to different cities each year, but PlayhouseSquare has hosted every other year for the past six years.

When we are the conference host, my responsibilities include managing the design and printing of mailings and the conference program, promoting the fact that we are offering free tickets to the general public and trying to get media coverage.

I also sit it on some of the professional development sessions to hear what's going on in the field and I attend the shows that will or might come back to PlayhouseSquare another time.

"OK, so what's up with the shows?" you might ask. Good question. "Seeing work" is a big part of the conference. Over the summer, a selection committee reviews submissions from hundreds of artists. 14-16 are selected to present full showcase performances during the conference. The artists are hoping to get booked at theaters like PlayhouseSquare. Theaters like PlayhouseSquare are looking for good shows to book.

Artists that are not showcasing can apply for an abbreviated "spotlight" performance and/or have a booth in the conference exhibit hall.

The Man Who Planted Trees is my favorite Showcase show of all time. We've booked it for our 09-10 season and I hope lots of people come to see it. It's hilarious.

Over all, the conference went well. I survived. And now it's time to get back to normal...whatever that is.

Remembering Marty

Today is the one year anniversary of my beloved cat Marty's passing. He was sweet and gentle, and was a champion purrer. He was with me for 16 and 1/2 years, through 10 moves, high school, college, my hellish relationship with my ex-boyfriend and my mom's illness. I don't know what I would have done without him.

From Marty I learned that love can truly be unconditional, that napping is very important, to show excitement when someone you love comes home, to show affection, and to try not to be grumpy even when you're not feeling well.

Marty had quite the personality. He loved to talk to his Auntie on the phone, and when you picked him up, he would give your neck a squeeze with his paw. Sitting or sleeping on the floor was beneath him; the only exception was a snooze under the Christmas tree when the lights were on. He preferred to sleep on my bed, my purple chair or the couch. And he felt that the couch was just a bit small to have to share - I guess he thought he was the size of tiger!

In his lifetime, he threw three TVs on the floor, killed a number of crickets and one praying mantis...and was loved by everyone who met him.

Even though I have two sweet new furry faces to come home to, I will always miss Marty. He truly was the best cat ever.

On the Road with My Dad

My dad is a retired truck driver. Toward the end of his career, he drove over-the-road, but for more than 20 years he delivered supplies to hospitals across Northeast Ohio. He took great pride in his work and won a number of safe-driving awards. To this day, I know what the terms bobtailing, jack-knifing, and cab-over mean, and I knew the rules of driving safely around semis well before I was old enough to apply for my temps.

One summer, when I was 5 or 6, my dad asked if I'd like to go to work with him one day. He didn't have to ask twice! I could hardly wait for the day to arrive. It was one of the few times (aside from Christmas) that I have ever awoken eagerly in the morning. I am not a morning person.

My dad had given me a company t-shirt, navy blue to match his uniform polo, though I wore shorts and tennis shoes to his navy pants and steel-toed boots. The night before, my mom had packed lunches for both of us.

During our commute to the warehouse to pick up his truck, my dad told me what to expect for the day. I already had a pretty good idea because I enjoyed hearing his stories about work and always asked lots of questions. I was looking forward to meeting Pat and Tony, two of his fellow drivers and long-time co-workers, and luckily, it was a beautiful, not-too-hot, sunny day. Perfect for a day on the road.

When we arrived, my dad introduced me to the office staff and the secretary gave me a donut. I munched as we walked through the warehouse, keeping a careful eye out for the cherry-pickers as my dad had warned me.

As we approached the truck, I proudly noticed that my dad's first name was displayed in black, capital letters under the driver's side window of the cab. Pat and Tony had their names on their cabs as well; other drivers who had not been there as long or did not drive regular routes were not given this honor.

After a thorough safety inspection, we were off in the bright white cab with its matching trailer. It was exciting to bounce down the road in such a big vehicle, so high above everyone else's heads. I was amazed to see how my dad manuevered the huge truck along city streets, down the highway and in reverse to back up to the docks.

I have always felt proud of my dad for delivering hospital supplies, things so necessary and important for doctors to use in healing the injured and sick. We probably made 8-10 deliveries that day. I was permitted to stand on the dock and watch the truck being unloaded wherever this task was not accomplished by cherry-pickers. Occassionally I got to hold the clipboard with all of the paperwork that needed to be signed. I felt proud to be "working" with my dad, and I was glad to discover that he encountered many friendly people during the day. All of the dock workers I met were kind and seemed happy to meet me.

My favorite stop was the one that had a cat in residence on the dock. I have a feeling that we stayed longer than necessary so I'd have a chance to meet her;-)

At lunch, we parked the truck under a bridge and ate in the cab. I knew that when I wasn't there, my dad read or did crossword puzzles - in pen, of course - during his lunch. He showed me what all of the different gauges and panel instruments were for, and patiently answered all of my questions.

All deliveries completed, we headed back to the warehouse where the truck would be cleaned and loaded with supplies to be delivered the following day.

I wish I'd had the chance to ride along with my dad again when I was older, and would have been able to remember more. Company policy changed by the time I'd thought to ask and ride-alongs were no longer permitted.

My ride along with my dad was a day I'll never forget. Not only did I have fun, but it was comforting to see first-hand what he did all day. As he talked about work on other occassions, I was able to picture in my mind just what he was talking about.

Hats off to all the truckers out there.